


fuck me and make me a drink

by insunshine



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Casual Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-12 05:19:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18439847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insunshine/pseuds/insunshine
Summary: Instead, Tommy sweeps him up, hands easily curving under Louis’ knees, and says, “Got it. No fucking up the rug. Where to, boss?”





	fuck me and make me a drink

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FlyingJo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingJo/gifts).



> Thanks to @gigantic, @sonni89 and @gdgdbaby for the beta. Thanks to the mods. Thanks especially to the National, from whom I stole my title. I listened to “Karen” pretty obsessively while writing, and highly recommend listening to it while you read. 
> 
> FlyingJo, I hope you dig this! It was really fun to write.

**6:57pm**  
don’t make me lock u in a closet.

Louis has only met Favreau’s wife Emily once, at the Crooked Christmas party, but they’d gotten drunk on tequila and taken too many photos in the photo booth, then exchanged numbers at the end of the evening with vague promises to _get together!!! No, really._

It hasn’t happened yet, but that’s fine. Time moves slower and simultaneously faster in Los Angeles. It’s already March. He has a new job. He’s busy. She’s busy. They text a lot.

 **7:02pm**  
I will do it!!

He doesn’t doubt it, and he likes her, even though his memories of the Christmas party have started to get hazier with time. _I know you want to, honey_ , he texts back.

 **7:15pm**  
I have to go be a real adult with my husband, but this conversation isn’t over. Tommy likes you! You like him! Go on a date. Give me grandbabies.

 _Well, this took a turn_ , he sends back. _You know I’m older than you, yes? How would that work?_

As he sets down his phone, the buzzer on the door chimes. There’s only one person it could be. Emily doesn’t have Louis' place bugged — she’s never even been here — but he still thinks about it as he gets up to hit the Door Open button, briefly checking his hair in the mirror by the window. It’s fluffier than he wants on top, but it’ll have to do.

He props open the door instead of waiting for a knock, wondering briefly about safety and serial killers, before wandering back to the kitchen to grab them both a beer.

“Hey,” a voice calls out. “Is there a murderer in your house? Should I call the cops?”

There’s a laugh in Tommy’s voice, rusty and telling, but he sounds cautious, too. Louis contemplates jumping him, and then thinks about the kind of mess broken glass would make on the floor.

“Still alive,” he says, pulling Tommy further into the apartment with one hand, and giving over his beer with the other. “Just providing refreshments.”

“What service,” Tommy quips around a smile, leaning down and closing the minuscule gap between their bodies as Louis closes the door behind them.

He’s a big guy. Louis has been with bigger, of course, buff gym-rat meatheads named Chad or Avery with more muscles than brain cells, and great thighs. It was good sex, but this is different. Tommy’s slimmer than he appears under those broad shoulders, less dominating than he looks like he could be.

“Let me just put these down,” Louis says against the plush dip of Tommy’s mouth. “I almost jumped you when you walked in, but this carpet cost me two grand. Dry cleaning it would be a nightmare.”

Tommy squints down at the carpet beneath their feet, and Louis wonders what he sees. He doesn’t say, “You paid _two thousand_ dollars for your _carpet_? You know all you do is stand on it, right?” which is what each of his brothers had done.

Instead, Tommy sweeps him up, hands easily curving under Louis’ knees, and says, “Got it. No fucking up the rug. Where to, boss?”

“Do you want to pretend to watch a movie and neck on the couch like teenagers, or do you want to fuck around now, and maybe grab dinner later? Take out? There’s a great little Ethiopian place down the street that delivers.”

It’s odd to feel suspended. Louis knows Tommy is strong, knows that he, himself, is slight, but heavier than he looks. Still, being held like this is disorienting. He doesn’t want to be put down, but he doesn’t necessarily want Tommy to know that, either.

“Let’s do dinner and a movie,” Tommy finally decides, nosing against Louis’ neck. “Sex,” he says, punctuating it with a scrape of his teeth. “Dinner,” another nip. “Movie.”

“Sounds good,” Louis agrees, and then he’s flat on his back on the couch, Tommy following him over with a hop. It shouldn’t be sexy. It’s such a dorky move. Tommy, despite appearances, is such a dorky guy.

He stretches out but doesn’t press all of his weight down, zeroing in on Louis’ neck again. Tommy has never left a hickey, and Louis doesn’t want him to, but it feels like maybe he could, like there’s a wild and feral thing between them, like he’s marking his territory.

It’s an overwhelming thought. Louis shakes his head to clear it again, hooking his hands behind Tommy’s neck and mumbling, “Relax. Relax your body. I can take it.”

Tommy’s eyes pop open as he pulls back, such a startling blue that Louis would gasp, if he were a man less in control of his emotions.

“I know you can,” he says, voice already a little rough, a little scratchy. “I just don’t want to hurt you.”

“You couldn’t,” Louis whispers back, flicking his gaze away. It’s too much emotion for what they’re doing. “Take your clothes off, come on.” 

“You first,” Tommy says, sitting up, and then ducking back down again to scrape their mouths together.

They’ve done this enough that he knows what Tommy’s body looks like in all sorts of light, knows the riot of freckles he’s hiding under every one of his boring, bargain basement outfits. That doesn’t stop it from always being a shock to the system, like that first sting of rain after an unceasing hot streak, or maybe the horror that comes after licking your finger and pressing it against a light socket.

“Fuck, you’re something,” Tommy says, after Louis shrugs out of his t-shirt and workout shorts.

“Thanks, I work at it,” Louis flirts, poking his tongue against his cheek to see if it’ll get Tommy to laugh again. It works, and he does, rolling his eyes as he grasps Louis by the ankles to tug him close. 

Against his mouth, Tommy mumbles, “The nice thing to do is say, ‘why, Tommy, you look nice too.’”

“If you wanted nice, you came to the wrong door, honey.” He loops his arms around Tommy’s neck again, not planning on letting him go.

“I like this door,” Tommy says, but he doesn’t push it, letting his fingers skim down until he’s got both their dicks in his hand. Louis must be getting predictable, because Tommy knows exactly where to slide his hand behind the cushions to find where he keeps the spare lube.

“Gotta start hiding that better,” he mumbles nonsensically, but if Tommy hears, he doesn’t show it, squeezing out a dollop and getting himself slick.

He jerks them together for a little while. His hand is big, the rhythm languid and perfect.

“Do you want to come like this?” he asks, voice gone scratchy. “I, uh.” He pauses for long enough that Louis gets to watch the progression of the blush splashing across his cheeks. What a shocking, gorgeous thing. “I got off thinking about you in the shower this morning, so if we keep going like we’re going, I’m going to be out for the night.”

When they started this, it wasn’t — it wasn’t all sex, or _just_ sex, but it was a hookup. A clandestine hookup between two colleagues. Not a big deal, no feelings hurt. Louis hasn’t fucked anyone else in the last three months. He doesn’t want to think about what that means at this precise juncture.

“I like this,” he says. “I’m kind of sore from the other night, anyway.”

Tommy’s hands immediately fall away, which is both kind and infuriating. “Sore from… me?”

Louis shakes his head, “I overdid it at the gym. My legs are a mess.”

“They look pretty good to me,” Tommy says, but he doesn’t ask any more questions, or push it, slotting easily back against the vee of Louis’ thighs. “This is good. I might fall asleep on you after, though, just FYI.”

 _You always fall asleep after_ , Louis thinks, but doesn’t say. It sounds far too tender and emotional, even in the relative quiet of his mind.

“Better make it worth it for me then,” he says instead, gasping when Tommy reaches down and wraps his palm fully around them both again.

He’s big everywhere; big shoulders, big feet, big dick, but his hands are what Louis dreams about, when he lets himself fantasize about Tommy like this.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Tommy says, kissing him again, long and deep, taking his mind offline for a while. 

His orgasm, when it comes, is not unexpected, but it feels like he’s experiencing it from far away, like some light at the end of the ejaculation tunnel. He opens his mouth to share the joke, maybe make Tommy laugh again, but what happens is that he comes instead, spurring messily between them and gasping into the quiet.

Tommy stares down between them as he slides his hand over his cock. His whole face is flushed, the hand he’s working over himself moving fast. When he comes, he’s not quiet at all, groaning, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He slumps over, not entirely blanketing Louis, but close enough that it’s more comfortable and less sticky. They’re both quiet for so long that he starts to drift off, color leaching from his vision.

“We should get cleaned up,” Tommy says, not sounding sleepy at all. “Want to take a shower?”

“I thought you wanted a nap,” Louis counters, blinking and trying to remember which of his hands has lube and come caked in it, and which he can slide through his hair and shake it out.

“Can’t nap dirty,” Tommy says. He’s grinning.

“I’ll let you know that I can, and happily,” Louis says, but he takes Tommy’s hand, not caring if it’s the sticky one. 

They’re both messy, anyway.

**

The shower is too small to attempt anything sexy in, and really, those never even come close to being his favorite scenes. There are too many ways to fall and crack your head open if you’re trying to comfortably fuck on slippery tile. 

Still, it’s nice when Tommy washes him down. It’s even nicer when he asks, “Want me to wash your hair? I like it. I haven’t done that in a while.”

“Um,” Louis says, sucking his bottom lip beneath his teeth. “Sorry. Do you have to? I’m just, _very_ particular about it, you know?” 

He likes Tommy. He’s not hesitant about whatever it means that they’re standing together under the steady thrum of his shower head.

“So that’s a no?” Tommy says. He’s still smiling, doesn’t look put out at all.

“It’s an ‘ask me again tomorrow, and maybe I’ll think about it,’” Louis says, and the grin Tommy flashes at him makes his toes curl.

“Am I spending the night?” he asks. Louis is saved from having to answer because Tommy ducks in close and presses their mouths together, firm and then softer, then softer still, no seeming intent behind it except for that he wants to.

Louis wants to, too. He sways, tender in places he’s not entirely familiar with. Tommy’s hands are enormous on his back, feet planted against the slick ceramic, keeping them both steady.

“Is this the part where you ask me to go steady?” Louis asks. He didn’t mean to. He hasn’t wanted that in a long time. 

Still, it’s hard not to know, when Tommy is looking at him like that, eyes kind and stormy gray. He’s not smiling, but he’s not _not_ smiling either.

“I was planning on forgetting my jacket here and making an excuse to come back by tomorrow. The day after tomorrow. Whenever it is that you kick me out.”

He leans forward, and Louis finds himself tipping back, mouth seeking out Tommy’s again. Instead, Tommy reaches behind him to turn the shower off.

“Do you feel clean enough?” he asks. “I want your bed, and a movie with explosions. Maybe a naked breast or two.”

“Or _two_?” Louis says, quirking his mouth into a smile. “Now that’s just greedy.”

In his room, down the hall, Tommy drops back against the mattress and lets the towel he’d swiped from the linen closet smack wetly against the hardwood. Louis has half a mind to snap about it, to pick up and fold the offending cotton, but he doesn’t want to. Besides, Tommy is looking at him shrewdly.

“Is this a test?” Louis asks, dropping his own towel and bucking convention to climb up onto the bed naked and bracket Tommy’s waist with his thighs.

They’re both a little damp, a little chilled, but there’s still something electric about this. Tommy’s hands come up to rest on his hips, almost natural.

“I just wanted to see what you’d do,” he says after a few seconds of quiet. “You always surprise me.”

It’s the kind of thing that’s not entirely a compliment, but something about the way Tommy says it, soft and slightly reverent makes it feel that way. Something new in Louis’ chest goes warm. Another icicle collapsing from the snow drift in his heart, maybe.

He settles down after a second, pressing his head against the broad expanse of Tommy’s freckled chest.

“This okay?” he asks, even though he knows it is, because Tommy’s hands haven’t dropped away from his skin, hot all over.

Improbably, they doze. It’s dark out when Louis opens his eyes again, cotton mouthed. His eyes are dry, and he reaches blindly for where he normally keeps his glasses on the side table.

“Where you going?” Tommy mumbles sleepily, and — fuck, right. Tommy Vietor is in his bed.

“Here, here,” Louis whispers, equally as nonsensically as their fingers tangle together in the dark. Something squirms in his chest and blooms, something riotous and bursting.

 _Don’t be sappy_ , he thinks. _It’s unbecoming_. Still, it lacks its normal bite. He feels too good. This feels too good.

“You still hungry?” he asks, eyes finally adjusting to the darkness. 

In the quiet of the apartment, both their stomachs rumble, and Tommy’s rusty laugh knocks the speculative mood sideways, even as his free hand curls up and around, fingers spreading across skin.

“I could eat,” he says. “Ethiopian, you said, right? Can’t say I’ve had much of it outside DC, but if your place is half as good as it is there, it’ll be great.”

Naked, Louis pads into the living room to find his phone. He sees Tommy’s first, left neatly next to his keys on the coffee table. His must have fallen under the couch at some point, and when he bends over to grab it, it’s lit up with a string of alerts and emails and texts from Emily Favreau.

 **10:15pm**  
I met a VERY cute boy tonight

 **10:17pm**  
Maybe if u go out with someone else, Tommy will get over himself and ask u out again?

 **10:32pm**  
Jon says i’m being insensitive and that we should let u make ur own decisions

 **10:35pm**  
You know I respect you and your choices, right? I just KNOW he asked you out, and I know you turned him down, but he’s so great! If you got to know him, you would see. POWER COUPLE.

 **10:40pm**  
If I made you feel bad, I really am sorry. :|

In the face of that much sincerity, Louis never knows how to properly respond. Instead he sends, _Nothing to apologize for. Turn that frown upside down!_

He only wants to die a little bit when the message shows as read, but a response isn’t immediately forthcoming. Back in his room, Tommy’s leaned up against his headboard, reading intently. 

“Somebody wrote a whole book on Elizabeth Taylor and one of her husbands?” he asks, tapping the front cover with a long finger. “This is sort of like that microhistory I read a couple years ago about salt, but way more dramatic.”

“I guarantee this is juicier than anything you’ve ever read about condiments, Tommy,” Louis says. “Technically, Liz and Dick were married twice. He died with her letters surrounding his corpse, even though he was married to somebody else at the time, and so was she.”

“Dark,” Tommy says, setting the book aside, but not before marking his place with one of the sticky notes Louis keeps on the table. 

There are at least thirty different ways to respond to that statement. Instead of arguing, Louis sits back down on the bed, shuffling closer and flipping on the lamp.

“Smile,” he says, pushing the forward facing camera button and snapping a selfie.

Tommy’s brows are up, a curl of a smile on his mouth. “Ohhh, shit. Are we about to be Instagram official? Should I tell my mom?”

“I’ve never met anybody’s parents before,” Louis says, honestly. “Maybe we should start smaller, like your dog, or maybe a houseplant.”

“Don’t have any of those,” Tommy says, blushing, palms up like he could possibly have anything to be embarrassed of. “What’s the opposite of a green thumb? That’s what I’ve got.”

“So we’re not moving to the country,” Louis flirts. “Got it.”

He regrets the words literally the moment they’re out of his mouth, but there’s no way to get them back, no rewind or fast forwards in real life.

“The commute would suck,” Tommy says. He moves closer, though, pressing their bare arms together. 

Louis takes one quick breath, then blurts, “Plus we work together, don’t forget.”

“Could get awkward, but I think, um. It would be worth it, I think, if you wanted to give it a shot. If I remember correctly, I asked you out on a date before, and you said no. You shot me down!”

“And then, less than five hours later, I had your dick in my mouth in a storage closet,” Louis says, shrugging. “What can I say? I contain multitudes.”

“You can say that again,” Tommy agrees. He lets his head fall back, looking comfy and warm, and his voice is so soft when he says, “I’d like to take you out, man. No bullshit.”

Instead of answering right away, Louis fumbles with his phone, unlocking it and navigating to his text thread with Emily.

“What do you think she’ll do if I send this?” he asks, attaching the picture, but not immediately pressing send.

“Does she have your address? She might actually drag Jon over here to see if we’re just messing with her. She can be pretty ruthless, especially if she thinks she’s being punked.”

Before he can stop himself, Louis leans in, brushing a feather light kiss to Tommy’s mouth.

“Let’s do it. No bullshit,” he says, pulse jumping wildly, trying to keep his hands from shaking as he passes his phone over. “Alright. Your arms are longer. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right. Some art direction, mood lighting, maybe some skin. Send her a good one, Tommy. Let’s see what she does next.”


End file.
